


Translating Titans

by ckret2



Series: Red Sprite & the Golden Ones (Rodorah slowburn oneshots) [5]
Category: Godzilla (2014), Godzilla - All Media Types, Godzilla: King of The Monsters (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Hey I was reminded what the tag is I was looking for:, Kaiju Linguistics, M/M, POV Outsider, Post-Battle, Psychic Chen Twins, is there a tag for 'secondary characters reacting to main characters plot', the ship isn't the focus, the ship's just happening in the background while the characters go ???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-30 18:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20777285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ckret2/pseuds/ckret2
Summary: One moment, Ghidorah and Godzilla were battling for the fate of the planet; the next, Ghidorah abandoned the fight, yielded to a combatant he’d all but defeated, and settled down peacefully in the middle of Boston’s ruins. And everyone, Monarch and titan alike, is trying to figure out why—and what Ghidorah and Rodan are going to do next. From the perspectives of Madison Russell (whose primary objective is to keep a firm grip on both parents until she’sabsolutely surethat Ghidorah is gone) and Ilene Chen (who has just confirmed that she’s got a full-fledged telepathic bond with Mothra, and can think of no more important way to take advantage of it than to transcribe Mothra and Godzilla’s worried conversation).





	Translating Titans

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of an ongoing series of Rodorah one-shots; although the primary focus of this one isn’t Rodorah so much as everyone else’s shellshocked attempts to process the fact that the big battle ended without a titan death. If you’re hoping for more focus on the Rodorah, that’ll be back next one-shot.

There had been a fight, and then suddenly there hadn't.

They'd all been ready to turn on the ORCA, to lure Ghidorah away from Godzilla and Mothra, to give them even a few seconds to recover... and in an instant it hadn't been necessary.

They'd watched from a distance as Ghidorah, unprompted, had backed up and looked away from Godzilla; driven back Godzilla and Mothra every time they'd advanced on him without launching a return attack; and then struck them a final time and darted across the ruins of downtown Boston.

It wasn't until they were up in the air that they could see where he went. And then between the rain and Ghidorah's hunched form, they couldn't tell what he was examining so closely until he stood, again, to face Godzilla, and left the crumpled form he'd been crouched over unguarded.

"Is that Rodan?" Madison asked, watching from the Osprey window.

Her own voice sounded far away. Just a few minutes ago, she'd been sure she was going to die, and now... It all might have _made sense_ if the battle had finished with a winner. She could start to process it then, knowing who had won and whether the world was going to end. But the battle hadn't finished; it just froze, like a paused video. Earth was trapped in the limbo between two frames of an incomplete scene. She felt paused with it.

"The, uh—Mothra was fighting Rodan," her dad said, his hand on her shoulder.

Hand on her other shoulder, her mom said, "Mothra must have stung him. We'd speculated that her venom could paralyze opponents," and then automatically turned toward Dr. Chen.

Dr. Chen and her twin sister—the _other_ Dr. Chen, although they all called her Dr. Ling—were their foremost Mothra experts. Madison had heard her mom marveling at how Dr. Chen would call her sister from halfway about the planet because she'd just "figured out" something about Mothra, and then a study of the young titan growing inside the egg confirmed Dr. Chen's realization. Usually Dr. Chen would present the myth she'd been reading that led her to her realization—although, to everyone else, there seemed to be only the most tenuous thread between the text and the discovery. But that _was_ why she was the mythology expert. And Dr. Chen’s mythical findings were marginally less disconcerting than when Dr. Ling figured something out just by _looking_ at Mothra's egg.

Madison had no idea which one of them it was that had first speculated about Mothra's venom—but regardless of which sister had first stated it, certainly Dr. Chen would be able to give them more information. But she didn't say anything. As though she hadn't even heard Madison's mom speak. She just stared out of the window next to them, and occasionally glanced down to scribble in a notebook.

Madison glanced at Dr. Chen's notebook. It was all in Chinese; Madison only recognized a few of the simple characters she'd learned while living in China—人 for "person," 天 for "sky," 心 for "mind"—the only whole word she recognized was 魔斯拉, _Mó sī lā_, Mothra’s name repeated over and over.

When her dad saw where Madison was looking, he glanced over and asked, "Taking notes? Now?"

Dr. Chen remained silent another moment. Then started, like she'd only just registered the question. "Translating," she said distractedly.

"Trans—translating us?"

Her mom lightly whapped his arm, whispering, "Stop bothering her."

But Dr. Chen's attention was already wholly absorbed by the scene below again.

###

Ilene had wondered since she was a child how much of her family's claims that they were "connected" to Mothra was mythologizing their family's past, and how much of it was literal. It was, she supposed, one of the reasons that she'd begun researching mythology; and even _finding_ Mothra a decade ago hadn’t satisfied her curiosity.

She'd only received the answer to her childhood question in the last day, when Ling had messaged her to excitedly say that she could _tell_ what Mothra was thinking, that it was like there was a window open between their minds and they could see and hear straight through it to each other—

And now, here Mothra was.

And Ilene felt the open window, too.

Not just that—but she could hear _Godzilla_, as well. He and Mothra were talking to each other. Ilene couldn't tell if Mothra and Godzilla's conversation was out loud or if they could hear each other telepathically the same way Ilene could hear them; but through Mothra’s mind, she knew what they were saying to each other.

So, she was translating.

As far as she knew, no one had ever documented any kind of communication from a titan before. Mothra was fine with Ilene recording—somehow Mothra _knew_ what Ilene wanted to do, and _let her know_ that it was fine—and so, with shaking hands and pounding heart, she became the first known person to translate titan communication into Mandarin.

Gēsīlā: I don't trust it. It confuses me.

Ilene wondered if Godzilla was really _saying_ that, or if Mothra was just transmitting what he was _feeling_.

Gēsīlā: We should be trying to kill him. 

Mósīlā: We can't. You're too weak. And I can't restore you like this.

What did she mean, "restore"...? Never mind. Keep writing. Wonder later.

Godzilla and Mothra had retreated into the Boston Harbor northeast of downtown and were wading through the shallow water (shallow to Godzilla, anyway) toward the ocean. They'd already capsized several boats that had somehow survived the initial hurricanic carnage. For now, though, they were paused, turning back to look at Ghidorah. Mothra's more tattered wing dragged in the water.

Mósīlā: It confuses me too. But...

Gēsīlā: But?

Mósīlā: Something's changed in them. Or maybe not changed. But...

There was silence. Ilene could feel Mothra churning through her own thoughts as if it were Ilene who was trying to put her own thoughts into words. Godzilla patiently waited.

Mósīlā: Something's different. They're conflicted.

Gēsīlā: Good for him. He should be dead.

Godzilla's growl was audible from the Osprey. Mothra butted his head.

Mósīlā: I'm saying we don't need to fight them right now. I think.

Gēsīlā: You're not sure? We should fight him just to be safe.

Mósīlā: No!

Gēsīlā: Fine. Why?

Ilene had to write it down several times before she was sure; but by now she was confident Mothra was speaking as though they were talking about plural persons, and Godzilla was speaking as though there was only one. She had no doubt that they were both referring to Ghidorah; so why the difference? Did Mothra count people by the heads and Godzilla count people by the bodies? Was it a linguistic difference between their species? Was it something else?

Mósīlā: Because, right now, they're not trying to burn everything down. They just want to protect Lādùn.

She'd had to pause for a moment, deciding how to write the name; because she wasn't sure exactly how to translate the name that Mothra had given, but she could feel that Mothra _wasn't_ using a species-wide name, the way myths variously referred to multiple members of the fire demon's species as "Rodan." But Ilene had only had the briefest moment to think about it, because the conversation was going on without her. For lack of a better translation, she'd scrawled down the characters for Rodan's species name, circled them to come back to later, and moved on.

(But that meant titans—at least some titans—had names for themselves, _individual_ names, names that even titans of _other species_ recognized and used. Or did Mothra and Godzilla _assign_ names to other titans, like humans naming cats and dogs? Or...)

Gēsīlā: He does not want to protect Lādùn. Does he? He does not.

Godzilla took a single step closer to Ghidorah. Ilene followed his gaze. One of Ghidorah's heads was turned toward Godzilla, watching him warily; another was turned the other way, occasionally twitching up, or down, or to the side, as though keeping watch for any other approaching threats; but the third, neck arched smoothly, was pointed straight at Rodan, watching with unwavering concentration as Rodan took a few jerky steps and tried to stretch his stiff wings. Aside from the two heads keeping watch, everything about Ghidorah's posture—from folded wings to curved back to crouched legs—was pointed directly at Rodan.

Gēsīlā: He does. Why?

Mósīlā: I don't know yet. But I felt it in their minds.

Gēsīlā: It's stupid. He's the only reason Lādùn needs to be protected. He was sleeping until he woke him up.

Mósīlā: The humans woke Lādùn up.

(The way she thought "humans" made Ilene feel very small and very brief; like a lone spark that had fallen off a burning log, dying too soon to be noticed.)

Gēsīlā: The humans are stupid.

Mósīlā: Be nice. One is listening.

Gēsīlā: Tell her to tell humans not to be stupid.

That, Ilene thought, would certainly be one hell of a way to open up communications between titans and humanity. (... She _was_ opening up communications between titans and humanity. Had Ling realized...?)

Gēsīlā: I still don't trust him. He's wanted to destroy us for generations. He didn't change his mind just like that.

Was "generations" the right word? In her work as a mythologist, she'd had plenty of experience in translating words with simple definitions but a multitude of culturally-laden connotations into something her Mandarin- and English-reading colleagues could make sense of—albeit usually with the help of copious footnotes; but now, she was translating feelings and impressions into language. Even though “turning feelings into language” was essentially what _all_ writing was, somehow this felt like the first time in her life she'd ever _truly_ tried to translate something. Godzilla's thoughts _felt_ "generation"-ish, but what in the world did that mean to him? What was a generation to something that might have been alive for millions of years?

Mósīlā: But they don't want to destroy us right now. Look—even the sky is clearing up.

And indeed, sunbeams had broken through the clouds and were gradually stretching wider.

Mósīlā: We need to recover before we fight them again.

Gēsīlā: It would be easier if you had died.

Ilene almost dropped her pencil.

Mósīlā: If I had, it would be much longer before I could help you again.

Gēsīlā: Aren't more eggs ready?

Mósīlā: Yes, but I can't risk going through them this fast if they’re awake again. We have to take this chance to recover.

Gēsīlā: I don't like it.

Mósīlā: I know. But remember, they yielded to you. They've never done that before.

They were quiet for a moment, during which Mothra mentally reassured Ilene that her ambivalence over whether to write "eggs" or "lives" had been well-founded; she could also write "reincarnations," or "caterpillars," or "daughters," and they would all be correct, but meant something different to Mothra than they did to Ilene. Ilene scribbled notes at the top of the page, characters cramming closer together as she ran out of margin space.

Gēsīlā: Come home with me. I'll guard you.

Mósīlā: Okay.

Ilene had to press her head to the window as Godzilla and Mothra's path took them in front of the Osprey and she lost sight of them.

Gēsīlā: He's going to eat Lādùn. Why did Lādùn fight for him?

Mósīlā: I think Lādùn thinks they're one of his kind.

Gēsīlā:

Ilene decided not to write that thought down until she could think of another way to translate it. She'd _definitely_ remember what he said.

Mósīlā: Language!

Gēsīlā: He'll kill Lādùn.

Mósīlā: I don't know. Maybe. Not now, but maybe.

Ilene crossed to the other side of the Osprey to watch Godzilla and Mothra move into open water. Godzilla swam near the surface, his back plates just visible above the water, like something between a shark and an alligator. Mothra perched on his upper back, her less tattered wing held up like a sail. She turned to watch Boston as they left.

It wasn't until Mothra was far enough away that Ilene couldn't feel anything through her window anymore that she re-read her notes and realized that, although Godzilla and Mothra had referred several times to Rodan by some specific individual name, they'd never given one to Ghidorah. Were they, like the humans who'd hidden their legends of Ghidorah, too afraid of him to call him by some name?

No. They hadn't seemed scared. Wary, yes. Grimly certain that he wanted to "burn everything down"—and could, if not stopped. But he wasn't a threat they wanted to flee, but to fight.

Did they not know what to call him?

As they vanished, she wondered.

###

Madison's mom was staying in Boston. Surrounded by four soldiers ready to take her into custody in an instant, sure. But they couldn't haul her away as long as there were still two very-recently-hostile titans sitting in the rubble together and she was still the only one who knew how to make the ORCA do anything but shout "I'm a Godzillahuman" at the top of its digital lungs. No one was actually sure what else she _could_ do with it at this point, if it came to that; but it remained in her vice grip nonetheless.

Her dad was ready to get the hell out of the city, the state, the country, the continent, and maybe move all the way to the moon if it'd get him away from any living thing taller than an apple tree—but he gave Madison the choice of whether or not they left Boston just yet. It might be a long time, he said, before either one of them had a chance to see her mother again.

She chose to stay. Not specifically to stay with her mom—although she held her mom’s hand so tightly her fingers ached—but because she felt like she couldn't possibly leave until it was really, really over.

And it wasn't over until Monster Zero was gone.

Ghidorah had watched patiently for hours as Rodan gingerly worked through his paralysis, first walking again, then fluttering a few steps. Every once in a while one of the diminishing storm clouds would drift over the pair, and Rodan would caw and keen in displeasure at the rain. Madison's heart leaped into her throat when Ghidorah suddenly spread his wings wide and launched into the air—she could hear hundreds of voices crying out or barking orders—but after three mighty flaps blasted gusts of winds that knocked several people over, he landed heavily again, wings retracted like nothing had happened.

And the sky was clear and empty.

There were so many spotlights illuminating the area and the titans, Madison hadn't even realized it was night.

Rodan grew stronger as the night wore on, until his fifteen-second practice flights forced Monarch and the military to relocate into the few standing buildings and parking garages. Madison tried to cover herself under a table like she'd learned to for earthquakes in San Francisco, but a soldier told her that for tornadoes, you should get in a middle hallway without windows. When Rodan wasn't flying, Madison was near a window with her parents, watching the titans.

Sometimes Rodan would peck at a fallen building, grinding walls and floors into dust, then drop down into it and shuffle around like a bird in a bird bath, before standing to reveal he was covered in grayish ash. He repeated the process several times before somebody pointed and said that his glowing chest wound was shrinking. He was building a concrete scab over the wound.

Ghidorah sat and watched.

A couple of other titans drifted into Boston—specifically summoned by the ORCA's alpha signal or just curious about what it had been, no one could tell. They didn't seem to recognize Ghidorah as the one who had commanded them to wake up, and Ghidorah didn't acknowledge them beyond warily watching them and hissing at Scylla for getting too close. Various intimidation displays were traded; the titans dispersed with little fanfare. Madison’s dad muttered something about alphas, puzzled.

Just as dawn was breaking, Rodan climbed into the air and stayed there, circling and looking down at Ghidorah. He roared several times before Ghidorah spread his wings and climbed too.

Nervous calls were made. Soldiers shuffled around, getting ready, although nobody was quite sure for what. Even Dr. Chen, who'd spent the whole night in her own world texting her sister, came to Madison's broken window to watch. Although Monarch had spent all night waiting for the pair of dragons (as they'd been flippantly dubbed) to move, they'd also dreaded it. Where Ghidorah flew, storms followed.

Madison could feel the static building in the air as he climbed.

But he _kept_ climbing. And climbing, and climbing, and climbing—until he was barely a fleck in the sky. And when he flew, he soared, wings outstretched to catch the first rays of sun in a cloudless sky.

"All of the legends I found and all the data Dr. Graham collected said that he—_they_ spawn storms with every flap of their wings," Dr. Chen murmured. "But they're able to soar without flapping. They don't _need_ to create hurricanes to fly. They _can_ exist on this world without disrupting it."

Which was a mind-blowing finding, to be sure; but after an extremely emotional day of titan battling, Madison's exhausted mind was completely out of whatever fuel it needed to be blown. So instead, she latched on to, "’They’?" Were they changing titan pronouns now? She supposed, vaguely, that it was fine if they were, she'd always kind of wondered how Monarch was all so confident that the titans were boys and girls to begin with, and the discovery that Ghidorah was an actual space alien probably meant that whatever criteria they'd used to decide his—their?—gender was probably irrelevant now—_an actual space alien_. She tried, again, to find it in her to have her mind blown.

"It's what Mothra calls them," Dr. Chen said. "'The One Who is Many'... Perhaps Ghidorah isn't one creature with three heads, but three creatures with one body."

Oh. Okay, not a gender thing. And _Mothra_ called them that—and, apparently, Mothra was _telling Dr. Chen_ about it?

Madison made one final attempt to light a mental fuse in honor of this latest mind-blowing fact. It fizzled and died.

She turned to the window and watched as Ghidorah and Rodan soared south.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on July 1 on [tumblr](https://ckret2.tumblr.com/post/185973199902/translating-titans)


End file.
